A twisted fate
by Theydeservedbetter
Summary: James watches from afterlife as Sirius lives through Azkaban, reunites with Remus, heals and dies. Dark beginnings, bittersweet ending. Wolfstar and slightly AU.
1. Surviving Azkaban

(Sirius)

Sirius had been taught in DADA that dementors forced you to relive all your worst memories, so they could feed of your despair. Yet the first minutes, hours, months, in Azkaban there was just one memory, playing itself over and over and over again in his head, like a broken record. It started the moment he had pushed away the broken door, his heart beating in his throat and his breath ragged, panic pounding behind his eyes to the rhythm of his thoughts… let them live, let them live, let him be alive…

The next moment he was kneeling, clutching the body against him, still warm… Staring into the hazel eyes and wishing desperately to see a glimmer of live, but all he saw was the bleak flicker of the cold moon reflected. James potter had died. He didn't want to let go, he did not want to believe, to feel the warmth drain so quickly from his arms.

And yet he had to let go to stumble up the stairs, feeling darkness press on his chest and rise in the corners of his eyes. Was this what insanity felt like? Maybe he could still make it alright, maybe he could save something, someone. Maybe he would not lose everything tonight – but his breath was punched out of him when he caught a glimpse of a white hand, resting against the floorboard in the doorway of harry's chamber. A red shimmer of hair. Then he felt the blackness surround him and he felt nothing anymore for a blessed dark moment.

He wanted to stay in the nothingness, the silent, cold darkness that engulfed him. Then he would remember. Where he was, and why. The next moment he was walking again passed the broken door, feeling his heart break into a thousand shards, each of them piercing through body and mind on their way out of his body and into the ground, leaving him forever. And yet he was alive, and the memory would come again and again, not fading in the dark, not taken by the black, rotting hands when they came to feed. It was not the dementors who took his happiness from him, he managed to think, it was the death of his brother in all but blood.

Was this what insanity felt like?

(James)

"Has he not suffered enough?" James asked silently as he watched through the veil that separated him from Sirius, separated the world of the dead from the world of the living. "Why does he have to pay for it?"

As he turned to look at Death, there was a sadness in his eyes equal to Sirius's down below.

"He has yet a part to play," Death answered calmly.

James was not resigned.

"If it will comfort you, he will know joy again before the end," Death continued.

There was a silence as he watched James patiently, while James watched through the veil how Sirius curled in the corner of his cell. It reminded James of a happy memory from years ago in Hogwarts, and in his mindseye he could see Sirius sitting curled up on the windowsill of their dorm in Hogwarts, talking, laughing. Young, happy and blissfully oblivious, the both of them. Watching the stars.

"How long?" James asked after a while.

"A human question," mused Death. "Animals do not ask this, they do not know time and suffer, as humans do. I cannot answer this question."

Yet James seemed to find some satisfaction in the answer Death gave. Suddenly he grinned, a mischievous smile that made him look even younger than he was.

"He will survive this hell, somehow he always does. He's a rebel. He is a Marauder."

The pride in his voice was reflected in his gaze as he looked down on Sirius.

"One more question?" he then asked.

"I will grant you that, yes." Death whispered.

"Will he know that I'm _with _him? That he is not alone?"

In answer Death touched his cold fingers softly to the veil and on their silent command they waved and shifted, spinning soft memories of a summer breeze. An opening appeared and James looked longingly at the world that came into view more clearly now. The world that was no longer his, and in which he had had so little time to live, to be. He stood between the waving veils as if he were on a stage, and he was saying his goodbyes before the curtain dropped. The figure in the darkness beyond the veil moved, his black hair caught in the soft breeze for a short moment. He looked up slowly and his grey eyes met hazel ones, and widened. Then once again, the curtain dropped and the breeze was gone.

"Sometimes," Death said, "When time is due."

"Will I be there to save him?"

"Sometimes," Death replied simply.

(Sirius)

Years went by in minutes, seconds lasted centuries. Sirius' body had become weak, and he had gotten used to its weakness, curling up against the filthy floor en filthy wall most of his days. He had gotten used to so much, the hunger, the darkness, the filth and the screams that echoed between the walls and sometimes seemed to be his own. He had gotten used to the dark shadows with their rotting breath and rotting hands that glided through the cavelike corridor alongside his cell. He had gotten used to the endless night.

The only thing that he could not get used to, that was tirelessly trying to drive him into the insanity that Azkaban represented, where the memories. Deeper and deeper they cut into his mind, passed grief to childhood and the dark corners and cellars that he thought he had forgotten. But they were still there, too dark and deep to be put into stories. And they seemed to be as endless as the night.

When the pain of the memories theatened to take over he would shift into his canine self, and sometimes stay like this for weeks on end, only shifting back when he was afraid he would not be able to anymore. Still somehow attached to his humanity he was not ready to give up yet… Yet he grew more used to his animal body than his human one. Was it even human anymore, he wondered. Was he even human anymore?

In the darkest moments he had to remind himself how to breathe, and he clinged to the thought of his innocence. He started whispering softly into the void surrounding him.

"Forgive me James… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… Forgive me James…"

Sometimes the guilt was so hard to bear that he was waiting for it to stop his heart, and hoping it would.

"I'm sorry James…I'm so…sorry…"

(James)

There was no pain in the afterlife, no body to feel it. Yet there was still sadness, for a soul exists as a fire, burning a light in the hearts of those they love and who love them. And pieces of James' fire were still on earth, and he would feel sadness for his loved ones as he watched them through the veil. Waiting.

He saw how Sirius' shimmering light, invisible to the eyes of the living, was slowly dying as nothing, noone was there to keep it burning. He saw how the black dog would lay in the corner of the cell, unmoving, for days on end. More ragged, thinner every day He watched the memories that clawed their way into Sirius dreams and consciousness, black, black memories.

Then one night he saw the light fade completely and James did not want to wait anymore. Sirius could not bring himself to eat or drink and the veil started to grow clearer to him with every hour, and closer in the corner of his eyes. He was waiting for something, someone to come for him to free him of the cell and the mind that had become a prison of its own. To be taken by the black nothingness, that he expected to be Death. He did not want to die, he wanted to live, but there was no more willingness left to endure the loneliness of it all…

Now James moved his fingers to the veil and it moved as it had done for Death himself. James was on the stage again, still a part of the play was his. Yet this time Sirius did not look up. His eyes, deep in their hollow sockets, were closed. His body had already adopted the look of death, even if his heart was beating, and his blood was still warm. His consciousness had retreated from his body and hung above the frail curled up form, and Sirius looked down on it, seeing himself for the first time in years. He did not recognize what he saw. But then again, he had forgotten so much…

Then he felt a hand on his arm, not a rotting and cold but a warm and living hand. He saw his body below him stir at the touch. As he looked up he met again the hazel eyes that he knew so well, that he could not forget. They were the same, and yet different, as if the light that was reflected in them came from an otherworldly source. James smiled at him, not the boyish grin in the fading photographs, but a smile of love and sadness and understanding.

Are you coming to get me, Sirius wanted to ask, but no sound came out of his throat. James, seemingly having heard it anyway, shook his head.

"It's not your time yet. You still have a part to play."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"Padfoot, there is nothing to forgive. It was not your fault, we never blamed you. You are not alone brother, and know that better days will come. Do not give up now, you never did before."

James fingers slipped from Sirius' as he was taken back behind the veil, the brilliant light fading with him. But his smile lingered and the warmth stayed as Sirius descended into his body once again. The light had started to burn again.

A memory came back to him. James was standing on the platform 9 ¾ , looking at him in concern. They had just arrived and departed from the train and over James' shoulder he saw his mother and brother waiting for him near the exit of the station. The first looked towards him with hatred, the second one with fear.

"You okay mate?" James asked, with a gentleness in his voice that was only ever directed at the Marauders and Lily.

"Yes," Sirius answered. "We get through these things you know."

Somehow he always did.


	2. Remus

(Sirius)

Years passed.

The first thing he felt when he woke was warmth. The second feeling was soft fabric under his fingertips. He lay stretched out on his back, not curled up into a ball as usual. His fingers twitched, scratched at the fabric. "Blanket," a voice in his mind said, stemming from forgotten memories of another lifetime. The warmth ("sun," the voice said) crept through the fabric and through his skin, into his bones. He had forgotten how it felt to be comfortable, surrounded by warmth and softness en seeing light through his eyelids. Now it came back to him.

He must be dead, he thought at first. His body must have given up as his mind had done a thousand times over, wandering away from his flesh and bones, only to drift back into his body, back into darkness. As if his soul was tied to his cold bones by a force that neither his mind or his body controlled. Light peaked through his now slightly opened eyelids, flashes of white clean walls, of golden sunlight and dancing shadows of something on the wall – "Leaves" the voice said.

Next he felt the ache of his bones, the weakness of his muscles, pain in his stomach. Not dead then. How could a soul feel pain without a body? Maybe they had taken mercy on him. Maybe they had brought him up to face the light one more time before they would execute him. Or maybe it wasn't mercy. They wouldn't want to kill him down there, where rotting hands and rotting breath roamed in the damp darkness.

He forced himself to open his eyes, swept the room. White, white, light and cleanliness. A face. A dark face looking at him, with - what? Fear? - in the eyes. The face came closer, he did not recognize it.

"Mister Black? Sirius?"

He had not heard his name spoken in such a long time he hardly recognized it as his own. It was a floating word, without meaning.

"Do you understand me?"

He did understand. Being spoken to was new, and yet oddly familiar. Like it had happened before in a dream. He unclenched his teeth with a painful spasm to his jaw.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

His voice was a hoarse whisper, and he realized that these were the first words he had spoken in a long time. Yet the short sentence conveyed all he hoped for, and all he feared.

"Mr. Black, my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Auror department. I'm here to tell you that we have caught Pettigrew. We cast _Priori Incantatem _on his wand and he confessed everything. Quite quickly with the help of some Veritaserum. We know that he was the Secret-Keeper of the Potters, not you. That it was him who betrayed them and killed those muggles."

There was a silence. Hardly anything the man had said had reached Sirius' understanding. He was still trying to comprehend there was another person, and the person was talking to him. He had not heard a voice at all for so long, or seen another human being. The only evidence of humanity in Azkaban had been the disembodied screams from other prisoners. Hardly human at all, just like he had become himself. Now all he could do was stare at the man who was sitting on a chair beside his bed in the strange white room.

"Mister Black? Did you understand what I said? What it means?"

The man looked at him intently. There was emotion in his voice, his eyes. Fear? Sirius thought. No it was something else… The light seemed so bright to him, the room started to sway and all lines went fuzzy. Sirius closed his eyes and frowned so his vision was dark again.

Then something warm touched his hand, made him jump and almost jerk away, had he not been so weak. "Hand," told the voice in his head him. Human. Touch. The warmth of the hand send a shiver through his body and instinctively he curled up into a ball. He opened eyes again to see the face now close, and the hand on his arm. Not fear, concern. Sadness.

"Sirius, you are a free man."

He did not know how long it took before the sentence went from being heard, to being understood, to being felt. He started shivering, though the room was still warm. He stared at the man, wide-eyed, seeing clearly for the first time. He could not talk, not because of his weakness and illness, but because he did not know what thought to put into words.

_A free man._ Disbelief. Fear. Fear of betrayal. Distrust. And yet, some budding seed of hope that he had thought had died a thousand deaths, long ago. Now it grew, from his stomach to his heart, to his throat, to his eyes. His sight went blurry again. Do not trust, his brain told him, but yet his heart knew the man spoke the truth when he looked into his concerned eyes. The hand on his arm had not left. He felt he was still shaking. He inhaled sharply, trying to gather his sanity, to calm the thoughts that raced through his mind.

"Not going back?" he managed to strung together finally.

"No. Never." The man said, determined and almost stern, his grip tightened on Sirius arm.

Than he spoke again, of war and enemies and lies. Of betrayal and hatred, revenge. Then his face softened. "…always believed you, he did… never doubted…," Sirius picked up.

The man stood up and the hand dissappeared from his arm, Sirius desperately needed it to stay, needed not to be alone again. He tried to move but could not do more than turn on his side, facing the door that the man was walking towards. But as he left, someone else entered.

Sirius blinked and looked at the face of the new man and somehow everything went silent, like a wild sea when the wind suddenly stops howling and lies down. Even the darkest voices in his head, fearful, angry, grieving, hurt, went away and his breath slowed. The shaking stopped. There was only light that danced in tawny hair, glinstering amber eyes and before he knew it slender hands touched his, touched his arm and shoulder, his face. Only the voice of the old, but not forgotten memories stayed, and whispered, "Remus".

"Sirius..." Remus whispered, answering the voice of Sirius' memory. His voice was laced with tears. Sirius could not bring himself to fight against the dark that washed over him again now he was calm, and fell into unconsciousness with Remus hand resting on his face and the other holding holding Sirius' hand, who gripped his tight, even in his sleep.

When he woke again the light had changed from gold to blue. There were no more dancing shadows on the wall. This time his brain clicked faster, and the realisations washed over him as the dark had done, with mighty waves.

He was a free man. They had caught Peter. He was in a hospital. The man sitting on the chair next to his bed was Remus… _Remus. _Free. Light. Warmth. Remus… Suddenly fear surged from his stomach to his throat and all his muscles tightened. All could be taken away again, all could be there to torture him with hope before sending him back to hell. Worse, a thousand times worse than death.

The next moment Remus was on his knees next to the bed, his free hand running through Sirius hair, over his face, his back, his face again, and then softly pressing on his chest to calm his ragged breathing.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Remus whispered softly. "It's okay… It's real, I'm real, They're not going to take you back there, you are safe now. You are with me…"

Slowly Sirius' breath returned to normal and he looked in Remus eyes and never wanted him to leave, never wanted to stop looking in the pools of amber. The memory-voice stirred, seemed to grow into a feeling, and became part of him again in that moment. He realized it was not his own, but the soft voice of Remus that had named the things around him, that kept the subtle thread of memory alive. That had kept him sane. Maybe it was also Remus who had somehow tied him to his body and not allowed him escape it, to die…

Remus was crying, his brain registered now. He made no sound but tears were forming in his eyes and falling down his cheeks as he looked at Sirius and softely kept stroking his face and hair.

"My love…"

That broke through Sirius' trance and made him feel a warm glow in his chest, but also an incredible sadness as he realized what it meant.

"You should not have waited Moony…" he whispered. "You should have given up on me, like the rest of them, long ago… Live your life…"

His eyelids dropped shut against his will, feeling the years of unshed tears burning in his eyes.

Remus smiled through his tears and closed the gap between them to kiss Sirius' forehead. Then he rested his forehead against Sirius' and closed his eyes too. They both breathed in eachothers presence for a minute.

"It was not much of a life without you Padfoot…"

Sirius smiled as memories flowed back to him, feeding the glowing warmth in his chest that he had not felt for so long. Echoes of excited highpitched voices and footsteps, running through corridors adorned with moving paintings, laughter, his own too.

"Padfoot… I had forgotten…" he managed between sharp breaths.

Remus' hand stroked away tears from his hollow cheeks, he leaned into the touch, his eyes still closed.

"It is over now, love." Remus whispered gently. "Will you come with me? You don't have to be… alright, or be who you were before. I got you, I'll never let you go, remember? I will take care of you."

Sirius swallowed with difficulty, his throat hurting from the words and tears that had been stuck there for so long. He opened his eyes, seeing through the blur the gleam of amber eyes looking into his. He saw the pale, thin hands holding both of his own now, even paler. He let out a shaky breath, not daring to believe in a chance of happiness, after so many years of hell. The bud of hope in his heart brought alive parts of him that he thought had died, and he understood now that these parts of him were the ones that had kept him going. _"We get through these things you know…" _

"Are you proposing to _me_ now, moony?" he croaked, feeling his face split into a grin that he had last worn as a teenage boy, damaged but happy, before the night came down.

Remus breath hitched and he did not answer, struggeling to contain the joy and sharp pain at seeing the old Sirius smiling through this Sirius' face.

"Yes Moony," Sirius whispered, his vision fading again, "I say yes…"


	3. Living and dying

(Sirius)

It took weeks for Sirius to be able to wake through the day, and a year before he slept through the night. After a month in the hospital he had been allowed to move to Remus' home, _his _home, the cottage in the forest he had inherited from Alphard Black, his wayward uncle. Remus and he had lived there since they left school, and yet Remus had hardly left any marks in the cottage during the last 12 years he had been alone.

The crazy coloured wallpaper Sirius had put up in their last year in Hogwarts, before they joined the war and lost the dream of it, was still there. The color had faded and dust clung to the red and yellow banners on the wall, but these were the only signs that time had passed. Slowly moving through the house, his fingers trailing the decor, Sirius felt like he was visiting a past life, and seeing it simultaneously through his own eyes, and those of another, younger and different Sirius. There was so much joy and hope and dreams expressed in the colors, the garden, the motorcycle in the shed. So much of it had been lost…

Everything was a sensation of joy and sorrow, of loss and memories, whirling through his mind and stabbing him with pins of pain and pins of happiness.

The garden was still wild, but the wilderness was different and more feral than it had been before. Where wild flowers, weeds and spiderwebs had been woven together in a perfect tapestry of nature, now grew high grasses, stealing sunlight from smaller flowers. The trees were taller, he noticed, and wondered how he could remember so much without being conscious of the memories for so long.

Remus was the same though. Sure he had gotten older, and his face was lined with the losses and loneliness that he had lived through. There was more grey in his hair, and more scars on his body. Yet Remus had always been old in a way, the stress of his condition taking its toll since he was six. And the loneliness and pain he had endured in his life, had taught him to be resilient, even in the darkest hours, even when no hope was left.

Sure he had gotten older, he had hardened against the world, more withdrawn than before. But there was still the strength, and loyality, and wisdom, beauty and love, the calm and warmth that was Remus, and that made Sirius love him so much.

They would not speak much in the first weeks, as Sirius slowly regained his strength. He still slept a lot, sometimes with help of dreamless sleeppotion, and he slowly gained his weight and health back. Eating real food again, being touched, feeling the wind and the sun and the grass beneath his feet were such wonderful sensations that he could not describe them to Remus, even when he tried. He took Remus outside anyway, and they would look at the sky together, the moon and starlight no longer dangerous and cold, but beautiful when they were together, fingers interwoven.

He often woke up from his sleep with Remus lying close to him, touching him or holding his hands and looking at him with wonder in his eyes. To Sirius it was the best feeling in the world and in those moments he marveled at his new chance of life.

The dreams of darkness, shadow and hunger, rotting hands and bonedeep cold he took for granted, they were part of him now. When he woke up shuddering and with horror in his eyes, unable to speak or even breath, there was Remus, and his eyes and hands and soothing words and soft lips.

(Remus)

The first months remus had hardly allowed anyone except their few closest friends to visit them at home, or reach out to Sirius, even when they pleaded. He knew Sirius would have to feel safe and home before he could let that happen. And that would take time. He sometimes thought Sirius hardly knew anymore he was even human. Especially when he watched him eat, or kissed him, showed him affection of any kind, he recognized in Sirius' eyes the uncertainty and disbelief or surprise that he had felt when he was a child, and had not thought of himself as a person deserving of love and care.

He also knew that those people that pleaded the loudest were the ones that had had no problem with condemning Sirius in the first place, without real evidence, without a trial, without any trace of mercy. For his name and blood they had always found him guilty, even if they had not said it. Remus had seen Sirius rebel against his blood as long as he knew him, standing up for what was good and light and innocent in this world and being punished for it again and again by his own family. They all – the marauders – had thought that he had finally freed him from the shackles of his family when he was disowned at sixteen, only to discover that he would be haunted anyway, forever.

Blood will out, the people had said. They were so ready to believe the papers, ready to hate. They did not see that they spoke against the very thing they stood for. They fought against Voldemort for his pureblood mania, but evenso condemned Sirius for the blood in his veins. It had ripped Remus last bits of trust to shreds, first the treachery of Peter, then the betrayal of Sirius by those that were left. He had lost all his friends on That Day, and the light had gone out in his life.

Now he was determined to heal what could be healed, even if it would never be whole again. As Sirius had grinned at him in the hospital he had known that the strongest Marauder of them all had not been destroyed, that the pieces could be stuck together again. There would be scars, but there could be something like happiness too, because there was love that had never left.

Now they had been home for a year and as he looked over at Sirius at their dinnertable – still eating with his full focus on the food and slight wonder in his eyes – he could see the boy again that he had been before they had locked him away in the darkness. There was a glimmer of life in his grey eyes, his hair hung in perfect wildness in front of them, flowing raven locks. His arms, no longer weak, where tanned– he was always in the garden under the open sky – and his fingers looked as strong and elegant as they had always done.

Feeling Remus' stare Sirius suddenly looked up, spoon in his mouth, and flashed him his boyish grin. Remus felt something warm blossom in his heart.

They really could have happiness again together.

For as long as it would last.

(James)

_"Come on, you can do better than that!" _

James was watching the battle unfold with fear in his heart, hoping his son's story would not end here. Too much youth had been lost in his own time. He was watching as all his dearest friends came to protect his son with all their might, willing to sacrifice anything to keep him alive. He loved them all and their fierce loyalty.

_"You can do better than that!" _How much like the sixteen year old Marauder, that hexed and run and laughed and laughed until both of them were wheezing, hiding behind some statue or in a secret passageway. _"He will survive, he always does somehow". _Yes that was true, the mischievous teen who had been his brother had survived Azkaban, with his soul intact. Scarred, but not defeated. Not gone.

How much he wished for Sirius to stay in the world of the living, to have more years of happiness under the open sky, to grow past his dark fate and rebel against Death itself. To have, to feel, to love, to be… Why could he not know the greatness of the earth, the depths of the starry sky and long life, and finally grow old and grey and content? Who was to say… Not James.

Sirius died laughing, as he should have, only so much later. He felt the curse break through, looked into Bellatrix deranged eyes and heard his godson call his name. Then he saw the veil, clear now as day, closer than it had ever been. It waved it's summers breeze and he felt himself fall, fall…fall… fall through it, as though it was a beam of sunshine. He was caught by strong arms, that he recognized in an instant.

James knelt over him, as he adjusted to his new surroundings, the weight that had left him and the knowledge of what happened.

Grey eyes looked in hazel eyes once again.

"Hello again Prongs," said Sirius.

The old, wicked grin appeared on James' young face.

"Hello padfoot. It's good to see you again. Shame you got old."

Sirius grinned too.

"Shame you didn't."*

It was like they never parted.

***(N/A: I read this interaction somewhere on tumblr (can't remember where), it was too good not to steal.)**


End file.
